X-cromonsone
by Kaitlin Genesis
Summary: Serena is the only hope for North America. She carries in her body the only anti-machine against a chemical a group of terrorists are using against man-kind.
1. Default Chapter

The stench was overpowering. It wafted to my nose. The stench of death. The bodies were everywhere. They littered the ground. Repulsive in their twisted faces that showed feelings of horror and severe agony. What happened to these people that they would die with contorted faces? All of them?  
  
A little boy looked up with unseeing eyes. Just a little blond boy passing the street. Tears whelmed in my azure eyes. What made people do this? This torture of human life. I looked a little closer at the toddler. There were no marks. No signs of a fight. No death marks whatsoever. Just that face of intense pain. The tears now fell down my flushed cheeks. I cried for the boy. I cried for the sister beside him, but mostly I wept for the pain. In all directions I saw suffering.   
  
I started to walk the streets, hoping, praying to God for survivors. None arose on the tiny street with the exotic name. I passed none but bodies, empty shells of life these people must have possessed. The tears still came, flowing steadily down my checks while the vision of horror filled my sight. I walked into the general store. A man was slumped over the counter. A women in front of him. With the women was an infant child. I checked the pulse. All dead.   
  
This couldn't be happening. I ran the streets of the little town, breaking into homes trying desperately to find life. I didn't. Not even a pet was alive. I sank to the ground, picking up whatever I could find to hurtle through the air. A can, a rock, and a coin of a foreign currency. Could I have stopped this? I asked myself over and over in the fading light. The tears stopped, the bank of salty liquid they are made of dried up leaving me with helplessness and sadness without a way to express it.  
  
In the distance the sound of braking earth reached my ears. Trucks. Lots of them. On an instinct I ran backwards into a wall of trees and bushes. Dropping down just before the trucks came in sight I saw the banner which flew from a pole on the back of the truck. An American flag. Such a clash against the green of the army conveyances. I started to raise myself of the soft, spongy ground beneath me. I was Canadian. They could help me. I filled my lungs with air to yell at them then saw what they were doing. Instead of helping the villagers I saw them shooting them. Through the head, through the chest, or arm it didn't matter it seemed. They shot the already dead bodies, stepping into houses doing the same. But what shocked me most, down to the core of my being was the fact they were robbing from the dead. They took the money gathering in into bags then sealing them. There was no glee on their faces as the money stacked to a large amount. No greedy pleasure.   
  
I turned my head from the scene in front of me for a movement in the bushes. What if they had found me? Those horrible man? As in my suspicion a man stepped out of the thick bush. A face dented and scarred. The jagged lines hugging his nose and checks. There was a faint trace of stubble on his chin and hair black as night fell over his eyes. He looked up and I saw his chestnut eyes. Then I noticed the clothes he wore. The same colour and style of the man who were, at this moment, ransacking and mutilating the town. I tried to scream then. Opening my mouth when he shook his head and placed a hand over my mouth. I suddenly became aware of the callus and the firm strength in it. He could kill me and probably will when I try to escape, I thought to myself. If not then I am taken to those men who act like no decent man. In a split second I made my decision and bit down hard on his hand. He cursed swinging his arm madly back and froth. I tasted blood as I scrambled to rise. He swore once more then whacked the side of me skull with a closed fist. I saw black.  



	2. chapter 1

  
AUTHORS NOTES: These characters are OOC.  
  
  
  
The black of my vision was peeling away, revealing what I always hate to see. A hospital. I despise hospitals with a passion. The soft, welcoming sheets under me was offering sleep. I refused. I had to stay awake, alert. Shifting my head to the side, I surveyed the room. White walls entrapped me, a window to the left teased freedom. My bed was against a wall. And in the middle of the room sat a man. Not just a man but the man. The one with the scraped face, and dented nose. Black hair fell forward, obscuring his eyes, but I didn't need to see them now. The memory of the cold brown eyes and dangerous hands was still fresh. And suddenly so did the pain. Pain from then, but not now. Where had it gone?   
  
He stood from the plain black chair, absent of all personality, and sauntered my way. Panic grabbed me. I started to fall into ciaos. Thrashing wildly, and screaming, I hocked my closed fist with his jaw. Orderlies ran in. The mystery man swore. I yelled again, incomprehensible words that rambled out of mouth. The orderly stood confused before a booming voice roared out "Leave". They took their cue and left me at the mercy of him.  
  
He looked up and I saw crystal blue eyes. Blue like midnight. Blue like water before a storm. Such a clash with the chestnut I saw before. Still cold yes. Cold and calculating. He wasn't the same man I saw before? He isn't one of the barbaric people who stole from the dead? All those questions and more rolled through my head. It must have showed on my small face, because he started to chuckle. A deep chuckle coming from somewhere in his belly. Then I became angry. Who did he think he was?   
  
He began peeling away fake skin. Skin that once showed scares and holes. Putty was removed from his nose reducing the size and the seeming broken appearance. In its stead it was straight, short. Putty also came off his chin changing it from long and pointy to chiseled and rugged. A towel was lifted to his face removing make-up, making his face from tanned to white, pale. The black hair stayed, still stubbornly falling over his eyes.  
  
My shocked silence fell away, I started to scream. Or at least tried to as he out his hand over my mouth. I debated biting him again then thought better of it. There was no use. I would still be helpless.  
  
"If I take my hand from your mouth would you promise not to scream." He asked in a low voice that reeked of barley harbored violence.   
  
Rigid in the bed I shook my head in a positive gesture. My blond hair fell in my eyes and over his hand. Gently, ever so gently, he brushed it back. For a moment I softened. Then steeled again.  
  
He moved his hand letting it drop to his side. I started my questions: "Where are we? Who the fuck are you? What the hell am I doing here? What were those American soldiers doing to Tecsonvine? What..."  
  
I never had the chance to continue my rants as he interrupted me with a quietly spoken sentence. "Those were not American soldiers."  
  
"I saw the flag" I stated this flatly. I had always believed in facts. The sky was blue, killing is wrong etc... I would take those facts, I called them truths, and write a column on it in the Time and Transept. Truths are my life and no one could convince me that I didn't see the American flag on that truck. No one.   
  
"You saw just what they wanted you to see. Just in case anyone did see them. Those soldiers were from that town's country." I looked in shock, asking a question he seemed to pick up on without I having to speak it. " Because it was an experiment. They wanted to see..."  
  
He never finished as the doctor walked through the wooden door. She lifted her head to the side, questionably. "Am I interrupting anything, Ms...?"  
  
"Ms. Cole. Ms. Serena Cole. Why am I here Doctor?" I asked trying to keep my voice light. She must have sensed my ever-growing frustration, for she took on a soothing tone one might use for a child.   
  
"For shock mostly. I was afraid when you were brought in with concussion considering that you were unconscious at the time." I glared at the mystery man to my left but didn't say a word figuring to myself that he probably had the doctor paid off. But why would he need to? He could just kill me or abduct me. He didn't need to take care of me, bring me to a hospital. While I puzzled over these facts the doctor was trying to shift the attention back on her.   
  
" Miss. Cole?" I looked back to her and smiled, showing I was paying attention. She carried on. "Just look at the light here...That's it."   
  
After proving to have no head injury I got dressed, still mulling over the facts of the mystery man and trying to figure out what he was going to say before the doctor came in. A country mutating it's own people? Soldiers were pretending to be American? What experiment?   
  
I emerged from the bathroom clean and in a new pain of jeans with an orange, sleeveless shirt. The mystery man gave them to me as I walked in the bathroom. I turned my head to the open doorway and saw his beautiful shaped back. The muscles barley hidden in the T-shirt. The narrow hips leading down to muscular thighs and strong calves. His frayed jeans were overtopping the top of the brown hiking boots. All of it giving the appearance of a gorgeous woodsman. Not the killer I know he is.   
  
He turned around. I told myself that I would not gasp or flutter a hand to heart. I did none when he showed his face but I did catch my breath in my throat. The face of an angel, I thought to myself, with the heart of the devil. With that in mind I coldly looked him in the eye.  
  
"Where the hell are we going? Who the fuck are you? And where are my own clothes? My necklace and ring?"  
  
He held out a bag. Reaching into it I pulled out my jewelry and slid it around my neck and finger as he watched me.   
  
"My name is Darien. We are at a hospital in Germany and you, Serena Cole is the next savoir of North America.   
  
  



	3. chapter 2

  
Sailor Moon does not belong to me. I wish it did.  
Characters are OOC  
  
I stared at him in shock. My mind shut down as his lips twitched at the corners.   
  
"What? When did this happen? How?" I stumbled through the words, my mind still in a haze.   
  
He started to walk down the hall, with me in tow. In a raspy breath he whispered "Not now. Not here. Later."  
  
His voice shot shivers down my spine to the core of my stomach. It was like melted chocolate. Rich, tantalizing, low, and dark. I don't know why I listened to this ludicrous man. Why I started to move my feet father in stride to match his. Or why I so badly wanted to feel that hand on my skin instead of through the cloth. I don't even know why, when he touched me, I wanted to reach into his hair, to feel how silky it is, and run my hand along the muscles in his back. I tried to tare my thoughts from him. Of the male scent that hung in the air around my nose. Of the rugged chin and those shapely lips.  
  
  
Suddenly, a wind tore into my face. Outside. Freedom. Now I could run. He wouldn't come after me and even if he did I could scream and people would come. This is a hospital; there are always people around. I looked into his face, the cold eyes and the tension that bunched his shoulder muscles together, and made my choice. I ran. Madly I ripped my hand from his grasp, trying to loosen my arm. No success. I tried hitting him next. He ignored the blows without batting an eyelash. Then I tried screaming. My mouth opened and instead of finding air I found a hand. I bit down. He swore and moved the hand holding my arm, quickly, around my waist. He lifted my off the ground, kicking and biting, and brought my to the car.  
  
The car itself was a red, Ford mini van. He placed my on my face in the back and covered my with an itchy wool blanket. Closing my eyes and prayed to God for help. I was so tried. The painkillers were starting to dim my mind, setting walls between me and the world around me. For a second time I fell into sleep.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
This time when I opened my eyes to the world I didn't see white walls, Thank God. I was again in a small room, but no window. The brass bed looked as if it was going to tumble down into scrap. The ceiling had water stains creeping from a far corner, and the walls were painted puke green. I tossed my legs over the side of the bed; intent of letting my anger get the better of me. I was going to let Darien find out what it is like to be a human punching bag. Quickly I lifted myself out of the bed. Dizziness overtook me. I clutched at the disgusting wall, trying to make my way to the warped door when a man walked in. He was short man with a shock white receding hairline, and a stomach that couldn't fit in his pants. He looked at me for a second, then stuck out his huge hand for a shake while smiling to me as if we were friends from long ago. I didn't know what to make of it. His smile faded a bit, and suddenly, for a man that very well is my captor, I felt bad. So I seized up his large hand with my petite one and smiled my most charming smile. Then, with a creaking of a door and sound of heavy feet hitting the floor, Darien walked in. I froze. The muscles in my back clamped together and my smile died. The short, pleasant man looked between us and declared, "You must have already met."  
  
Laughing a high and bitter laugh I responded "Yea, I guess you might say that." Then without warring I pulled my hand from his grip and smacked my hand, palm out, on Darien's cheek.   
  
"That's for hitting me, you S.O.B." I said between clenched teeth. I lifted my hand again to strike him. The sound of flesh whipping flesh registered in my mind before I broke down on the floor.   
  
Sobbing and cursing I tried to hit him yet again. He caught my hand in both of his and kneeled down toward me.  
  
"I'm sorry." He said quietly while the fat man slipped out of the room.  
  
I laughed. "Your sorry?" I asked him sarcastically. "Well, hell, I feel so much better now." I managed between sobs and grasps for air.   
  
Leaning down he took my body into his and held me. I shrugged away. Pushing at his chest, with both of my hands, to keep him away. "You hit me. You took me. You let those men, pretending to be American soldiers, ransack the dead. You have no...no..." My words died off, the little amount of energy used for that speech warred out. He let me yell and scream and hit him in the chest until, tiered, hungry, and eyes that were rimmed with red, he sat me down on my bed and told me why he thought I was the savior of North America.  
  
"There are a group of terrorist," says he," That wanted America to fall. We only know a little about the organization but we do know we are looking for a man named Terzokies. He developed a type of water chemical that cannot be extracted or detected. After years he found it, calling it Cromonsone 6, naming it after that stupid book. I guess he figured it was irony. The only problem he had than was if it would work on human beings. So traveling back to his home country he put this chemical into the water supply. Now what is the genus about the chemical is that is really isn't a chemical but a group of small machines, enough to fit into the blood stream. You can turn those machines off and on at any moment he chooses. They attack they same way a poison might by stopping major organs. Scientist have been trying to develop this to help people, but they got to it first, making it into a weapon."  
  
He stopped, looking to her curious to see her reaction. "Well, where do I fit in?"  
  
"You have, in your body, the only known anti machine to this. While you were at the airport, there was a man being chased by other man. Do you remember that?"  
  
"Yes." I remembered it very well. He passed by me, all of that blond hair streaming behind him, then him running ahead, when soon he was shot. I closed off the memory before I could cry for the man.   
  
"He was a scientist who was making the drug and the cure. At the last stages of the experiment he stole the cure and ran of with it, in the end getting shot for it, but not before he pricked you with a needle. That short time he was standing beside you he did it. He put the cure machines into you. When you where going on vacation they were plotting so when you went through that town not only would you see the death but you would meet them. It didn't work out."  
  
"I was early." I said interrupting him. "They killed all of those people because of me?" I asked with a flat tone that gave away to me shock.   
  
"No not because of you." He was holding my hands in a heartbeat, me not pulling away, needing to be held for this moment. "Because of them. They would have done it anyway. You were just there."  
  
"One more thing, Darien. Who said 'we' a lot. Who are 'we'?  
  
A took a deep breath before answering. "CIA"   
  
  
  



End file.
